A la mémoire de nos parents
by LesMisLoony
Summary: While their kids are rehearsing, Anna Maria Mozart offers to help Cécilia Weber out with a sewing project and they find common ground. For the #aprilfilles prompt "glitter".


If Wolfgang made Aloysia hit that high note again, Cécilia was reasonably sure she would go insane.

The boy himself seemed harmless enough. He maintained a reverential distance from Aloysia, at least, which was a relief. The last thing Cécilia needed was to fend off another hapless suitor before her daughter even came of age. Before her voice reached its full potential.

No, the particularly obnoxious thing about Wolfgang Mozart had to be his single-mindedness. He had poor Aloysia rehearsing relentlessly, and it was never a sweet little tune like the sort of thing she sang before. It was all outrageous arias, garish scales up and down and high notes that seemed to make the windows rattle. There were days when the boy would stagger out of their house with that soppy grin on his face and Aloysia would clutch her throat and sink into a chair as soon as he was out of sight. Cécilia had never prepared so much honeyed tea in her life.

Fridolin had an annoying habit of passing by the kitchen and tutting when he saw yet another kettle on the fire. The last time he did it, Cécilia had stared at the steaming spout and seriously considered pouring the boiling water all over her useless husband. He was the one who wanted their daughters to sing, after all. Since the first day he had showed up at Cécilia's parents' house, his shoes dusty and his hands spattered with ink, he had dreamed of starting a family who would put a voice to the music he spent his days copying. How dare he scoff at Cécilia for bringing his dream to life? For training their girls not only to sing, but to sing beautifully? To sing profitably? It wasn't as though they would be able to retire on a copyist's salary.

Anyone in Mannheim would have confirmed that Fridolin Weber had been lucky the day Johann Stamm accepted his request to marry his daughter. The Stamms were not quite powerful, but Cécilia's father had been a government secretary who had taught his daughter from the beginning how best to go after anything she wanted. And who had the Webers always been but wide-eyed dreamers, their eyes full of stars and their heads in the clouds, until Fridolin and Cécilia had joined forces? Cécilia Stamm Weber did not have time for pretty dreams or fanciful plans; if Fridolin told his wife that he wanted their children to be able to sing like angels one day, then by the time the sun came up the next morning Cécilia had already made a list of the best voice teachers in Mannheim and ordered it by the price. And while Fridolin was still in bed snoring away, she would clap a shawl over her head and set off.

Aloysia's pure little voice made it to the top of a run, but wavered at the highest note. "Again!" Wolfgang said; Cécilia stabbed her needle into the dress she was mending a little too forcefully and managed to catch her fingertip. A bead of blood bubbled up against her skin, a gasp hissed between her teeth, and she dropped the dress into her lap.

On the other side of the room, Wolfgang's mother lifted her head from her book. "Are you alright?"

Cécilia popped her finger into her mouth and shrugged. "It's this damned dress," she grumbled. "I can't tell where this silver embellishment ends and my needle begins."

"Ah," Anna Maria said, and to Cécilia's surprise she closed her book and moved over to the seat at Cécilia's side.

Anna Maria Mozart wasn't rude, exactly, but she had made it clear that she thought herself better than the Webers since the first day she had stepped into their parlor. She tutted and rolled her eyes every time Wolfgang paid Aloysia even the barest of complements, and she was constantly muttering that she intended to have her husband intervene to sabotage this unexpected boost to Aloysia's career.

Alright, maybe she was a little rude, but Cécilia couldn't hold it against her, no matter how much she wanted to. Aloysia was beautiful and talented, and if there was any justice on this earth she had a glittering future to look forward to... but she was no match for Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Not yet, anyway. Anna Maria knew it, and she knew that Cécilia knew it, too. All Cécilia could do was grit her teeth and hope that Wolfgang's music brought attention to Aloysia's voice before the boy remembered himself and struck out onto his own path again.

"That silver bodice really is magnificent," Anna Maria said gently. "May I?"

Cécilia just nodded, her pricked finger still in her mouth. There was something uncanny about Anna Maria paying her a compliment instead of shaking her head and burying her nose deeper into her book.

"I admit I know a little something about working with fabric that glitters," Anna Maria said with a wry smile.

Cécilia frowned down at the dress, then back up at Anna Maria. She wasn't sure what to say except- "Why are you helping me?"

If the blunt question took Anna Maria by surprise, it was only evidenced by the subtlest quirk of her brows. She sent the needle carefully through the silver dress and pulled the thread taught before she looked back up with a funny little smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "Why shouldn't I help you?" she asked gently.

"I don't know," grumbled Cécilia. She watched Anna Maria's fingers maneuver the needle for a beat, waiting for her to scoff and lash out. But she just kept sewing. "I suppose you just seem too reserved," Cécilia admitted at length. "I didn't think someone as high-class as you would sew."

"High-class!" Anna Maria echoed with a snort.

"Look, I'm not entirely stupid, madame," Cécilia said. "Your father was some sort of government official, was he not? Mine was only a secretary. And Fridolin's-"

"My father died when I was a child," interrupted Anna Maria. "I can't even remember him. Mother could never bear to remarry, so we were poor my whole life. We lived on charity."

Cécilia pressed her lips together, stealing a nervous glance at their children over by the clavichord. "I didn't know."

"If I hold myself back or fret over our position here in Mannheim, I'd like to make it clear that it is only out of concern for my son," she went on without looking up. "I've never traveled alone with him. Responsibility for his actions has to fall onto my shoulders. With well-behaved children like yours, I'm not sure if you'd understand the pressure under which this places me. And every time my husband writes to remind me of our plans for him..." she trailed off, her fingers falling still.

"I- I do understand. Aloysia's future means everything to me," murmured Cécilia. "The reputation of our family rests on her talent. On _my_ shoulders, because God knows Fridolin is useless when it comes to matters of business."

Anna Maria's gaze snapped back, and to Cécilia's surprise, she turned to her with a warm smile. "Then we are in agreement? We are only a pair of mothers, doing what we must to assure that our children's talent will shine?"

"A glittering future," said Cécilia. "Aloysia Weber, prima donna."

"Good," Anna Maria said, and she held up the silver bodice. "Finished."

Cécilia couldn't help but return her smile. "Thank you," she said, taking back the dress and folding it in her lap. "Thank you for helping me. And for letting Wolfgang help my daughter."

"They may yet help each other," Anna Maria said lightly. "But only professionally mind."

Cécilia snorted. "Aloysia has too much left to achieve before she begins to think of marriage! Believe me, madame, your son's virtue is safe."

"His virtue isn't what I'm worried about," said Anna Maria with a wry chuckle. "But whatever our husbands may think, they certainly work beautifully together."

On the other side of the room, Aloysia hit that high note again. But this time, the hairs on the back of Cécilia's neck didn't stand up. She glanced out of the corner of her eye and Anna Maria, who had returned to her book, and then down at the row of neat stitches in the side of the silver dress.

She caught a glimpse of the mantel clock and heaved herself to her feet with a long sigh. It was nearly time to put the kettle on. And no matter how many pots of tea it took, Cécilia, like Anna Maria, would see to it that her child was on the path to the glittering future she deserved.


End file.
